Primal Shift
by Kaprou
Summary: Peter Parker has a tough Chemistry teacher! Also, a girl asks him out on a date. Sounds pretty normal, right? Maybe not. (I'm trying out the chapter system.) (Complete)
1. Default Chapter

Primal Shift

Peter sat quietly, his eyes crossing and re-crossing the ceiling tile. Two hundred thirty small holes in that panel. Two hundred and eighty in the next. Fifty tiles across the room. One hundred and eight tiles spanning the length of the room. That would be how many dots?

He let his eyes drift shut as his mind told him and he ignored it. His eyes seeped open and settled on the lecturer again. Considering the money he was paying for this course, he really should try to get something out of it. Dr. Connors was considered one of the best guest lecturers the college had managed to acquire in years.

"—which is why death is such a mystery," the professor was saying. "Since most of the cells in our bodies are replaced every seven years, the question arises. At what point do our cells forget how to remake themselves? Why do the chemicals we are made of shift so we become old, brittle, and forgetful? That is why research into cellular level memory, RNA, and related venues is currently enjoying a resurgence. Perhaps we can even discover the secret to regeneration," he said, gesturing to his empty sleeve, pinned up at his shoulder.

"The fountain of youth might be within each of us waiting only the proper key to unlock it," he continued. "If we could teach our cells, our bodies, our autonomous functions to replicate themselves indefinitely, only our more permanent cells would need to be rejuvenated. We could possibly go on forever, unlike this lecture," he said with a smile. "For next week, chapters four and five. Dismissed."

The students got up and shuffled to the door, chatter rippling through their ranks. Here and there a student laughed. They were moving to the door immediately; almost every student had packed up books and notes ten minutes before the lecture ended.

As Peter walked out into the hallway, he saw several people waiting for friends. He headed past them, his head down, mapping out his weekend. It was Friday, which was good, but he had some nasty tests on Monday. Plus, his lab with Connors was Monday, and those were pure torture if you got behind in class.

"Peter Parker?" came a hesitant voice. He stopped and turned, coming face to face with a pretty young woman with bright blue eyes.

"Yeah, that's me," he said with half a grin.

She smiled, and her cheeks turned a bit pink. Blonde. Cute.

Really cute.

"Well, Mr. Parker," she said, half teasing, "I was wondering if you had plans for tomorrow night. I had a date and it turns out he's had something come up, so I was wondering if you'd like to do dinner and a movie."

Peter glanced to the right and the left. "Me?" he said with a grin. "Well, sure, I guess. Did you have a particular movie in mind?"

"Oh, we can figure that out over dinner," she said with a shrug. "How about Golden's?"

"Sure," Peter nodded, mentally reviewing the sit-down-cafeteria-type restaurant and quickly working through the menu price range. "That would actually be fine. I didn't catch your name, though."

She laughed silently to herself for a moment, then she held out her hand. "Gwen. Gwen Stacy."

He took her hand and before he could think it through he kissed the back of it in a single swift burst of gallantry. "Well, Gwen Stacy, I'll look forward to Saturday. Shall I pick you up?"

"Sure," she said. "I'll meet you in the Student Center at five."

"Five is good for me," he nodded.

"Plus," she said with a shrug. "Golden's is in walking distance." She flashed him a smile and lost herself in the crowd. Peter looked after her, wondering what had just happened.

Someone jostled him. He turned to see a bright, grinning face.

"Yo Pete." The young man facing him had a tight mat of curly and immaculately trimmed auburn hair, an ironed shirt, dockers. He looked suave and relaxed and a bit elfin and mischievous.

"How's it going, Harry," Peter said. "You got the lab results ready for Monday?"

"Transposition from my notebook is cake," Harry said, confident. "I have real news for you, Mister Bookworm. You know how you were always kow-towing at my feet and acknowledging my studliness?"

"Uh, that's not quite how I remember it," Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck and arching an eyebrow at his lab partner.

"Well it's time to start. Guess who I have a date with tonight."

"The Dean's wife?"

"Ouch," Harry said, still grinning. "No sir, tonight is all class." He shifted his bag and made a Hitchcock camera view with his fingers. "'Tonight: Harry and Mary Jane.' Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it, tiger?"

"Yeah, that's great," Peter said, suddenly confused by his emotions jumping two directions at once. He slapped his lab partner on the shoulder. "Just great, Harry. You show her a good time now."

"You got it, pit crew," Harry said, his grin insufferable. "Gotta jet." He slipped back into the crowd before Peter could think of something witty and fun yet absolutely crushing. The moment was lost; he stood in the hallway, his brain still groping around for something clever to say.

"Better not wake me up at two this morning with a good comeback," he muttered to himself, and he trudged down the hallway. Then he thought some more.

"What the hell," he said. "I have a date too." He smiled and picked up the pace.

**xXx**

"So how's the schoolwork," Doctor Connors asked as he looked out the window at the afternoon sun slanting across the campus. Working on Saturday was easier somehow, with no classes in the building.

"Good as yours," said the impudent young voice on the other end of the line. Connors smiled.

"Keep it that way," he said. "Now I've got a stack of papers to grade that's as big as you are, so why don't you give me back to your mother."

"Kay," the boy said. "You comin home soon, dad?"

"Soon," Connors replied. "Just two more weeks here."

"Here's mom." The phone bumped and rattled, then he heard his wife clear her throat. "Hello," she said.

"How's the homestead," he asked.

"We're making do," she smiled. "Billy's fine. He's aced his report card."

"I think I've aced mine too," Connors said, watching students walk along the brick sidewalks, talking and laughing. "I think I'm close to a breakthrough."

There was a hesitation on the other end. "Curt," she said, "don't be gone too long. We want you back. I wish you wouldn't work on the weekends."

"I'll be back," he said with a smile. "This tour has been good for me. And good for my research."  
"Just... be careful, okay?" she said, trying hard to conceal the worry in her voice.

"I will be careful," he assured her patiently. "I'm a scientist, not a corporate worker drone. I take careful consideration before each step."

"Okay," she said. "Well... we look forward to seeing you in two weeks."

"Keep Florida together for me," he smiled. "This is Doctor Curt Connors, signing off."

"Be safe," she almost whispered into the phone. He hung up.

The room suddenly seemed silent and dim.

He stood and walked over to the lab table. He reached out with his one arm and flicked on the Bunsen burner; his eyes caught the pale ropy white scars on his wrist as he did so. His expression darkened.

"I have my work," he whispered to himself. "I have my work." He straddled the stool and glanced over at the cages that lined the wall. "You lot could make yourselves useful," he said with a rueful grin. "Don't suppose you'd fetch my notes for me, Kaa?"

The massive ball python flicked its tongue in and out once, but remained quiescent in its massive coils. Connors sighed, and bent over the microscope.

His one hand flicked to the adjustment knob, then to the slide, then to the knob. Frustration was never too deep in him; he sat back at once and rubbed his eyes. "Can't focus," he muttered. The room was growing dimmer, it seemed. Clouds over the sun. He leaned forward again.

He lost all touch with the passage of time until he had finished the concoction in the tube. Looking at it, he blinked. The liquid was pale and yellow, and it looked quite innocuous. He tried to remember what he had done to make it, but he felt clouded, almost compelled. He shook his head, shook off the odd feeling. He walked across the room.

A rat looked at him out of the cage. It was missing a leg. Connors put the tube in a rack. He had to think through the process more carefully than most people, since he could only do one thing at a time. He opened the top of the cage, then picked up the syringe, then loaded it from the tube. He lowered the syringe towards the suspicious rat.

"Let's see if we can grow you a leg," he whispered, his eyes bright.

The rat squealed and leaped away; startled, Connors pulled back. Then his eyes grew cold. He jabbed with the syringe, caught the rat, and injected. The rat squealed. Connors pulled the syringe out of the cage, tossed the syringe aside, and dragged the top back over the cage.

Then he settled himself on his stool once again, struggling with the dark feelings that never seemed far from overwhelming him.

"Let's see," he murmured. "Let's see if we can make a whole rat of you."

The rat squeaked piteously; almost mewled. Connors felt the darkness sweep over him; like despair, only more active.

In the back of his mind, a thought flashed: too long away from family, too long alone. Then he was lost to it.

"I don't see what the big deal is," he said, scooping up a large syringe and jamming it into the pale liquid. He drained it all into the needle and regarded it for a moment. "I really don't."

Then he jammed the needle into his leg and squeezed.

All the sound that escaped him was the hoarse cough of a brief scream. Then he was overwhelmed by the darkness. He fell to the floor and knew no more.

**xXx**

"There has _got_ to be a way," Peter muttered as he walked across the campus. "I need to find a way to take all the time I'm early and put it into all the time I'm late." He glanced at the clock tower and saw it was four thirty. "Thirty minutes," he muttered. "Might as well check my email." He headed towards the library. Then he slapped his forehead. "Gotta get my camera from my lab locker," he muttered. "If I go on another date without taking pictures, I might never live it down. Stuck on campus on a weekend. I gotta be damaged."

He headed into the science building. Then stopped. Something was wrong. Something out of place. His senses kicked into overdrive, his expression intent and searching.

A dragging sound, an odd smell.

Peter slowly walked into the hallway. He glanced down; he was wearing his best corduroy academia jacket, khakis, even decent loafers. He was in no condition to get mixed up in anything. He was reassured by the mesh mat stuck to the small of his back. Don't leave home without it.

He glanced down the hall and was startled to see the ball python slowly and leisurely pushing his way back and forth, headed towards the chemistry lab.

"I don't think you're supposed to be out," he muttered. Then his senses kicked into red alert.

Something breathed, not too far away. And it was like no breathing Peter had ever heard. That's what his senses seized on; strange, sibilant breathing, slow and deep.

He headed further into the science building. First get the camera. He passed the snake, leaving it alone for the moment. He dashed to the back of the chemistry lab and whipped his locker open, grabbed the camera bag, then was headed out to find the source of his unease.

When he reached the advanced studies lab, where the animals were kept, he knew he was close. The strange breathing had stilled, as though it detected his approach.

"Hello?" he called out, not sure what else to say. An iguana scuttled under one of the chair desks; the room was otherwise eerily silent. "Anybody back there?"

He cautiously made his way towards the laboratory that abutted the back of the classroom. "Doctor Connors?" he said. "Uh, Doc? I have some questions about Monday."

He reached the doorway, and smelled a peculiar thick and musty smell; reptilian, ancient. "Is everything okay?" he asked in a small voice.

Movement.

As he threw himself forward in a roll and popped up, lethal claws slashed through the air less than an inch above his head. Peter's blood ran cold when he saw the powerful reptilian thing clinging to the ceiling above the doorway.

"Yikes," he whispered. Then it launched at him before a normal man would have seen that it was there.

He slid to the side and lashed out with his foot, catching the creature in the side of the neck. The creature struck, tearing up the tiles on the floor before Peter's kick sent it smashing through a table. Empty cages shattered and snapped.

Peter sprang up, as did the lizard thing. Peter's senses read the monstrous creature in a glance; its face was almost humanoid, but with a savage jaw like a crocodile. Its eyes glittered with almost-human intellect. Its skin was tough, armored, and brutal. Knotted ropy muscle bound the creature together under the hide, and it lashed its prehensile tail.

Then Peter whirled to the side as it slashed after him. He was clear of the claws when the tail snapped into his lower back; he was airborne. He slapped into the wall, but his shoes scrabbled. He kicked them off and sprang up to the ceiling. The lizard thing glared at him, then bounded up from the floor, flipping midair, digging its claws into the tile. For just a moment they regarded each other, almost face to face, on the ceiling.

"Stealing my shtick," Peter said, bounding to the wall and down to the floor. "Bad lizard." He slid out of his jacket as the lizard dropped and sprang. Peter whirled his jacket at the lizard. The beast wasn't quick enough, and for a moment the jacket flapped around its face.

"Night," Peter said, slamming his fist into the back of its head. Its momentum carried it forward, and it crashed through the wall and toppled into the lab next door, spraying shattered glass and mangled equipment in all directions as it slammed into a heavy tile-topped table and knocked it over.

Peter started dusting off his shirt. "I guess I'll look okay without the jacket—"

Then a rasp of scales on drywall; he looked up in time to catch a heavy backhand across the face, sending him sprawling. No time to spin, so he crushed into the wall between the lab and the classroom, bursting through it like a wrecking ball and shattering a chair desk as he slammed to the ground.

"Ow," he muttered, shaking his spinning head to clear it.

The lizard was already airborne, and Peter lashed out with his feet. He felt and heard the air knocked out of the heavy creature as he slammed into its shoulders, absorbing the impact of its spring and kicking it back. The lizard stumbled, shreds of lab coat sloughing off, arms and legs and tail flailing. Peter sprang and came down with a knockout blow, snapping into the lizard's head between eye and snout. Something gave, and the creature almost flipped as it slammed to the ground.

A split second later it popped back up, its snout catching Peter in the chin. He sailed back through the air and his head plowed through the drop-tile ceiling, ringing off a rafter, dropping him back down onto the desk chairs and scattering them in a jumble.

"Wanna play it hard, huh," he mumbled as he dragged himself to his feet, tossing a desk chair aside. "Okay then."

His sleeves were already shredded. His forearms itched. The creature hesitated.

"Let's go," Peter said, settling his stance.

It sprang, and Peter launched himself to the side, over the ranks of chairs. With a splintering clatter, the lizard crashed down among the chairs, then spun and hopped up. This time it caught the drop-tile ceiling, which could not hold its weight. The tiles tore loose and the scrabbling lizard dropped.

Peter snagged his camera bag and rooted in it for a moment as the creature righted itself. It was fast, but not as fast as Peter. He hoped.

It sprang again, and this time he spun in time to dart straight up, catching the ceiling as the lizard blundered past under him, crushing into the wall. It pulled free, mashed drywall sifting down from its now-pale form.

Peter dropped in front of it, and it snatched his throat with one hideously fast hand, then the other.

Peter felt his neck squeezed, and he knew he had less than a second before he choked or broke; his hand whipped up and he pushed the button.

The flash popped, and the lizard wheezed a squeal. It dropped him, spun, and darted back into the dim lab.

For just a moment, Peter hesitated. Then he pictured the college rent-a-cops against this thing, saw their bodies sprawled on the ground.

No one else was fast enough.

So he went in after the lizard.

He cleared the doorway in time to see it dart through the hole it had made into the next lab, then it scuttled up the wall.

With a sinking feeling, Peter realized he knew where it was going. He moved with a burst of inhuman speed and bounded up, just missing the lizard's tail as it sprang up above the ceiling. He was right behind.

Upside down, they raced through the gap between the drop tile ceiling and the concrete ceiling, dodging supports and wiring and plumbing and insulation. The lizard reached a supporting wall, tore out the braces in the way, and slid up behind the walls to the floor above.

"For _this_ I stand up my date?" Peter muttered to himself. It took all his spread adhesion and small size to wriggle and dart through the tangled infrastructure of the science building, but he didn't lose the lizard as it moved like lightning amid the tangled and confused wiring and piping behind the walls. The building was old and huge; as musty and stifling as this space was, there was enough room for the agile opponents to move through between walls, between ceilings and floors.

After almost two minutes of the chase, Peter clung to the side of an air duct, his back to the water pipes, and caught his breath. His head was still throbbing from the lizard's hit; a good clean hit, had him dead to rights on that one. Peter was panting, for the air was dust laden up here, and worse; he was so filthy and cobwebbed he almost looked like he was wearing his mesh.

Not far ahead, his fingers told him, the lizard was clinging to a pipe and catching its breath. A thousand questions seemed to spin through Peter's mind about what it was, and where it came from, and what it wanted. Then he felt the lizard moving again, and he squirmed to catch up.

Peter's eyes widened in alarm as he saw the lizard scrabbling, tearing, and battering the wall. He pulled a final burst of speed out of his flagging muscles in time to almost catch up to the lizard as it tore through the wall of the science building and sprang clear, falling two stories to the greening grass.

Peter reached the hole. He fired out a webline that caught the creature's tail, but it was quicker than he expected, and it jerked reflexively away from the line. Peter was tugged out of the hole and sent tumbling through the air.

He shot out another webline and caught the building's edge, swinging up to it and slapping against the brick. His chest heaved and his muscles quivered with the prolonged, unusual demands he had placed on them. The lizard, now entirely devoid of clothing, hopped into the lake and swiftly swam towards the storm drain.

"Damn," Peter whispered. "Don't dare chase it into water."

He caught his breath on the side of the building for a moment. Something felt very wrong. He checked his internal timekeeper.

Precisely five o'clock.

He gasped. "Gwen!" he said. "Oh no!" He looked down at himself.

His shirt was entirely gone, his pants shredded and hanging from him in ribbons. He had some of one sock, and part of his belt. Head to toe, he was thickly coated in filth from scrabbling behind the walls, and his face was bloody from battering.

He wasted no more time. Springing off the wall, he landed rolling in the grass then popped up, running as he had never run before. Reaching the edge of the campus, he fired his webs and whipped up into the trees, springing and diving and web spinning as fast as he could go.

Shower. Fresh clothes. Shoes. Yes. Then to date. Yes. Then return and try to get camera back. Again. Dammit. And maybe his shoes.

Wind whistled and tore at him as he slung through the air, taking daring and desperate chances with the thinnest lines, over traffic. Height of rush hour. Dammit dammit dammit.

As he sailed through the air, upside down, his mind calculating his next webline's angle, he vaguely wondered if MJ and Harry were having a good time.

**xXx**

Peter was thoroughly out of breath when he spun into Golden's. After a quick glance around, he didn't spot her. He did see Amy, MJ's room mate.

"Amy," he said quickly, "have you seen Gwen Stacy?"

Amy slowly raised her eyebrows. "She was waiting for you, huh. Figures. She left about ten minutes ago."

"Ten minutes," Peter said, glancing at the clock. Five forty. "Ten minutes. Thanks."

As he moved out the door, he managed a pained smile. She waited half an hour. She must really like him.

As he jogged around the corner into the alley, he shot a webline up to the edge of the roof and sprang off the sidewalk. From the rooftop, he surveyed his surroundings. Okay.

Plan.

His mind whipped through options and narrowed his choices down very rapidly. He nodded to himself and leaped from the roof of Golden's to the parking lot. From there it was a quick two blocks to get to the florist.

**xXx**

Peter knocked, cleared his throat, and waited as he practiced a sorry smile. Knocked again.

The door opened, and a heavyset young woman with shifty eyes answered the door. "Yes?"

"Uh, yes," Peter said. He cleared his throat. "Is Gwen in?"

"You must be Peter Parker," the woman said, pronouncing his name like it was a disease.

He tried to be charming. "Yes."

"Yeah. Gwen would be here. But she bumped into MJ and Harry. They were going out clubbing, and took her along to cheer her up."

"Ah," Peter said.

"Yeah, 'ah'."

"Well," Peter said, "uh, if you could give her these flowers, and this chocolate..." he trailed off.

"You bet," the roomie said. "Sure thing, Parker. Car break down? I mean, I thought Gwen planned it out to be a pedestrian date."

"Have a nice night," Peter said, heading down the hallway, waving.

The door slammed behind him.

**xXx**

Peter lay in bed. His fingers were laced behind his head as his mind picked at him, thinking and not sleeping.

Maybe he was meant to be alone. Yeah. Maybe his power meant he had to be a solitary figure. Or maybe he was trying to blame fate for his screw-ups. Maybe he was just a loser.

"Maybe I should get some sleep," he said aloud.

He glanced at the clock. Ten thirty. Probably would be getting out of the movie about now. Damn.

He looked back up at the ceiling. First MJ, then Gwen. And what was MJ playing at? Did she still like him or not? Had she _ever_ liked him? Or was he just a shiny toy in her box of boy toys? And was that a bad thing? And since when did this Stacy girl know he walked the face of the earth?

"You," he muttered to his brain, "need a hobby."

What was a relationship worth to him? Would he really trade all his abilities to be normal? He thought for a moment of the wind whipping through the trees after him as he bounded from branch to trunk to empty space. Was that really better than women, better than a normal life?

"Oh yeah," he whispered to himself, and he grinned in the dark. "But I want to have my cake and eat it too. And I want to go to sleep. So shut up already."

_Voices in your head, Parker, they'll lock you up._ And what about that lizard thing? Who was it? Or _what_ was it? It had been in Connors' lab. Peter couldn't help but like Connors. Good sense of humor, modest, brilliant, well adjusted to missing an arm. Peter wondered what he would be like as a friend.

"Wonder what it's like to go to sleep before midnight."

_You would. Let's go for a swing. Tomorrow's Saturday, won't have to get up, and besides, Harry will be sleeping in after a hot night on the town with both the girls you're trying to date._

"Oh shut up," Peter grumbled, rolling over and sticking his head under the pillow.

_Four hours a night. Just four hours. All you need. And by tomorrow you'll never get your shoes and camera back. Unless we break into the police station, and interesting as that idea is..._

"Fine," Peter said, his voice muffled under the pillow. "Fine, let's go."

A minute later he was wrapped in his mesh suit and out the window.

A fine night for flying.

**xXx**

No police tape over the hole in the wall. The back wall of the science building faced the lake, and it was entirely possible that no one had noticed it yet. Peter slipped inside, and worked his way through the guts of the building until he had returned to the hole over the lab. Silently, he proceeded through the ceiling. Voices ahead.

"—thugs, I guess," one voice was saying.

"Some pretty pissed off thugs, you ask me," said another voice, more skeptical. "They'd have to be hopped up on PCP or something to get through this wall."

"It's just sheetrock," shrugged the other voice. "No big thing. I could push you through it."

"Yeah, well, let's not find out. These chairs are sturdier than they look, too. And it took four guys to stand that table up; those things have stone tops."

"If they got Connor, he's in some trouble, anyway," the first voice said. Peter gently adhered to one of the drop tiles and lifted it.

A security guard and a policeman were idly talking in the classroom. The place looked like it was waiting for a forensics team. Peter saw his shoes in a corner, unnoticed so far. He grinned and stealthed over that way, upside down above the ceiling.

"Think guns would stop somebody that mad?"

"Oh yeah," the cop said. "Thirty eight special magnum load will stop anything. You knock a hole in it, boom, it goes down. End of story."

"What about vests?"

"Still knock you down," the cop said, confident. "Break your ribs. Catch two of them and your vest won't be worth much any more."

"Ever shot anybody?"

"Never had to," said the cop as Peter silently lowered a web line, stuck it to one shoe, the other, reeled them in. The shoes drifted up through the air, unnoticed by the guards. Good loafers weren't cheap, and Peter found these to be quite comfortable.

"So whaddya think the doc was working on?" asked the security guard.

"Who knows. Smelled nasty, whatever it was."

Peter stopped, thinking. The doctor was working on something in the lab... then he _disappeared_... the lizard _appeared_... lab coat shredded... Peter couldn't help but wonder. He worked his way back over the lab, down into the one next to it, and through the hole in the wall.

The doctor's computer and monitor were untouched, to the side out of the way of their fight. Peter grinned. He put the tower case against the front of the monitor and quickly webbed it in place, put the keyboard on top and gobbed it in place, quickly gathered up all the cords and secured them. Then he lifted the assembly easily with the fingertips of one hand. He glanced out at the guards.

"I figure either he wasn't here or we'll get a note by tomorrow," said the campus guard.

"I don't know," the cop said, shaking his head. "Kids these days..."

Peter was through the unguarded door, moving lightly down the hallway gripping the ceiling with three limbs, holding the computer bundle lightly out to the side with the other.

Clean night air. He breathed deep.

"Oh no," he muttered, glancing back. "Forgot my camera..."

Just then the forensics van pulled up. Two techs started unloading their kits from the back.

Peter was gone, only the night breeze watching now.

**xXx**

An hour after he left, Peter dropped back in through the window and set up the computer on his meticulously clean homework-free desk. No password protections, nothing. Peter grinned. "Let's see what you've been working on, doc," he said to himself.

He started checking through the files; there was a folder for Connors. Good. Shared computer. Probably nothing vital on here, though.

Formulas, class notes, presentations, yeah, et cetera... journal.

For a long moment, Peter stared at the file. Journal. As in, private, personal, and none of your business.

He opened it.

Dropped down to the end. Looked like several months were recorded in here. Peter started a few days back.

_February 8. Classes going well here, and I have hope for the next generation of scholars. Even if I cannot solve this puzzle, perhaps my work will give them the tools they need to solve it. As it is, the despair is sometimes overwhelming. This is the time I am the loneliest, I think, absorbed in my work with no one else that understands. But if they did, then ethics would enter in to the equation, and what I do alone in the lab is immune to questions of ethics. Or so I tell myself. And then I think back to those dark days in Green Acres, and I remember what can happen if you step far enough away from the beliefs of the world. You are a genius or you are mad, and too often they walk hand in hand. I should attend to my studies, my teaching, and leave my research in the hands of others._

Peter hesitated, and saw that there was more. This journal could contain clues that would save Doc Connors life. At the same time, Peter could not imagine Connors being pleased by one of his students reading his personal journal. Peter glanced at the time. Oh, sure, only one o'clock. He read on.

_February 9. Success. I have amputated a leg off of one of the rats, and I found a concoction that did indeed regenerate most of the leg and several toes. The rat survived for two days and then developed a fast, lethal cancer and died. Is cancer the price of instability? The chaplain at Green Acres told me that suffering is so prevalent in the world because it is through suffering and accepting our limitations that we become stronger and more wise. I cannot accept that. If everyone did, scientific advance would become heresy. Besides, I am reaching a point where I am willing to accept cancer, if only I could be a whole man again. Adjusted, they call me. I do not choose to adjust. There must be a way. I will find it if it kills me two days later. Still I have a little patience. Refine, refine. Smelt the impurities of the science, not the man, and you will find wisdom._

"Wacko," Peter muttered to himself. "Maybe," he added uncertainly. He looked into the screen. A rather unpleasant idea was forming in his head.

_February 10. At last, Friday. I don't know what I was thinking, to try to abandon my research. My family is safe in Florida, and now, out here, I have a chance to finally try out my newest attempt. I promised the doctors that I would leave off research and use my mind and skills and knowledge to train the next generation, but patience has faded since then, and I do long to be whole. I will do anything to become once again the man I was. Today may hold the secret. I have a feeling that I'm close to a breakthrough._

The journal ended. The cursor blinked idly and rhythmically at the base of the screen. Peter stared, absently, absorbing the implications. This was more than science. This was... what? Spooky.

"Doc Connors," Peter said to the screen, "I'll find you, and see what we can do about this. And if you are that lizard, then we'll just have to find a way to bring you back." He shook his head and shut the computer down. "Or we could let the swat teams kill you."

He slept uneasily.

**xXx**

Sunday.

The cash register sang it's song, and Peter smiled uneasily at the clerk. Then he hit the street. In the bag under his arm he had three packages of powerful barbiturates.

"No good to catch you if I can't keep you," he muttered, and he crossed the street. "Okay," he said, "warm wet dark. Warm wet dark. If I was a lizard, I would go somewhere warm, wet, and dark." He glanced down the sidewalk and started walking. "Movie theaters, the zoo, the aquarium... Looks like a long day."

Long day, short on cash. Between the flowers, chocolate, and drugs, Peter had precious little disposable income left. Looked like a day on foot.

He got started.

**xXx**

Peter came through the front door and closed it quietly behind him. He saw a message blinking on the answering machine, and he punched the play button.

"Peter," said Mary Jane's voice, "You'd better remember how to use the phone pronto. Gwen got let down pretty hard when you dumped her last night, and the ninny even feels guilty that she wasn't there for you to give her flowers. Don't know what you're thinking, champ, but this is not cool." Beep.

"Thanks, MJ," Peter muttered.

"Oh, Peter, you're back," came a wavering voice from the kitchen. Aunt May came out, wiping her thin hands on a dishcloth. "Some girl called for you three times."

"Mary Jane?" asked Peter.

"I don't remember," Aunt May said thoughtfully. "She didn't leave her number."

"So you don't know who it was and I can't call her back," Peter said patiently.

"Sorry, Peter," Aunt May shrugged. "Girls are so _forward_ these days. I hear some even ask boys out on dates."

"Shocking," Peter said, utterly dejected. "Am I too late to help with dinner?"

"You can set the table," Aunt May nodded. "I just finished a casserole."

Peter followed her into the kitchen, where the afternoon sun slanted in through the windows. A small television burbled quietly to itself on the counter.

"In other news," the announcer said, "a bizarre tragedy. An escaped crocodile broke into the kennel, 'Paws of Love', and _ate_ four dogs before escaping."

"Four dogs?" the other announcer said. "That _is_ bizarre."

"Police are on the case, but as of this report they have not captured the animal. Those in the neighborhood are advised to lock up their pets—"

"Peter?" Aunt May said, looking around. He wasn't in the kitchen. She peered into the living room. "Peter?"

**xXx**

Of course, the lizard had to eat. Peter lay flat on his back on the bus, watching the light poles go by. Should have just watched the news. Saved himself some precious admission fees that were ultimately dead ends. A kennel, just brilliant.

"My stop," he muttered, bounding off the bus and scrambling up a power pole. He hopped to the building twenty feet away, over the top of the next, and he saw the kennel.

"Now," he murmured, "warm wet dark." He slowly scanned the area.

"Perfect," he said, smiling.

He swung off.


	2. Primal Shift part 2

Light slanted through the thick water at an angle, lighting up amber shafts in the deep pool. The lizard floated, motionless, eyes and nostrils above the surface. Sun warmed the metal room. Aside from the hole the lizard had made to get in, the water tower was a contained area.

The lizard tensed, nictitating membranes slipping up. It sniffed. Danger was near.

Peter silently scrambled up the support of the water tower. Yes. The lizard was inside. The water tower used to service an industrial plant that went out of business, so it was probably abandoned. So no one would notice the hole torn in its wall near the top, the hole just big enough for the lithe shape of the lizard.

Peter reached the top and peered into the dim gloom of the tower's interior. A few thin beams of light poked through the steel where rivets had rusted away. Peter sniffed, and the heavy stench of the lizard was strong; musty, ancient, reptilian.

He poked his head in. Wrong move.

A powerful leg snapped into the back of his head, and he tucked his chin to take the hit on the lip of the hole, instead of slamming his throat down on the edge. He felt his jaw wrench, and he tried to drag his head out. Too late.

The tail whipped around his neck, and in a flash he was jerked into the tower. Through the explosion of pain through his neck, Peter got an impression of his foe; dark, strong. Peter lashed out and caught the creature on the shoulder. They spun apart and crashed down into the thick water.

Peter caught a flash of nightmarish teeth and eyes as the lizard swirled through the water at him, and his fist shot out of its own accord, knocking teeth down the lizard's throat. It banked to the side, and he caught its shoulder with one adhesive hand, jerking it up out of the water enough to punch it square in the chest once, twice, before it twisted and tore at his ribs with its savage feet. He clanged hard against the side of the rocking tower, and they spun apart in the sloshing wake of the assault.

He was up the side and moving, diving down like a bird of prey, his fists crashing through the thin layer of water and thudding deep between the lizard's shoulder blades. It gasped as its air was knocked loose, and as it tumbled for position Peter sprang clear and clung to the ceiling in the tower. The tower's rocking registered in his senses, and he realized the position they would be in if it fell.

Acting with the speed of thought, he tore at the ceiling, and made a rent in the metal big enough to slip through. He was almost clear when that horrid grip snagged his ankle; the metal was torn up, and if he was tugged down on it, metal would shear deep into his leg. He braced and yanked with all his strength. With a deep gong, the lizard slammed into the ceiling of the tower and was shaken loose. Peter controlled his fall from the tower with a webline, then waited for a moment.

The lizard was not ready to let him go. All right then.

Peter felt his blood ooze out of the gashes in his side. Not good.

The lizard dropped down from the tower and stood looking at him, breathing heavily.

For what seemed like forever they just stared into each other's eyes. Then the lizard turned and darted away on all fours, slithering under a fence. Peter sprinted after him.

Peter came over the fence in time to catch an uppercut with all the lizard's coiled strength behind it. The blow crushed into his gut and lifted him through the air, tumbling further above the broken industrial park than he cared to believe, unable to draw breath, unable to think, unable to roll, wondering if he was hemorrhaging.

He thudded to the ground after flying forever, and he lay crumpled in a heap, trying to force his body to breathe. Some part of his mind knew that the lizard had gone, and it also knew that the docks were near, and he did not want to follow it into the water. Most of his energy was devoted to breathing and not throwing up.

He tore at the mesh, clearing his face, then he threw up.

**xXx**

Night.

He rolled off the bus and shot a webline to the trees lining the street, swooping up into an elm. Dizzy from the exertion, he lay in the tree trying to breathe for a short time. Pain. Fire in his guts.

Not far to his house from here. Springing and leaping were beyond him, and the houses had never seemed so far apart as they did now.

Patience, Peter. Just be patient. One tree at a time. He stopped to rest in a tree across from his house. Then one more concentrated effort took him across the darkened street, up on his roof, and down into his bedroom. He stripped off the mesh. Away from his skin, it started to dissolve. He tossed it towards the trash can, and it draped over the side. For a moment it looked very much like the skin cast off of a molting lizard. He shuddered, and went into the bathroom, where he stayed for quite some time. He took a shower. Brushed and counted his teeth. Swabbed his cuts.

The gashes in his side were nasty. He spun some web and taped them shut; better than stitches. He stretched. He stood looking at his bed, aching in every joint, his stomach pulsing with his heartbeat.

Oh yeah, he hadn't eaten dinner. He felt faintly ill at the thought of eating, but he knew what would happen if he didn't. Hunger made him... grumpy. Grumpy and weak, too, and that was something he could not afford. The lizard was still out there. Maybe molting. What a disturbing thought.

"I should go to bed," he said aimlessly.

But while he was tired and broken, he wanted food. The thought of rummaging for leftovers briefly crossed his mind, and it left the way it came. He needed grease, fat, cholesterol, starch, food that was horrible for sedentary people. Food that his system reveled in.

Hey look, cash.

Peter sighed and picked up his wallet, then quickly dressed. "Need to get more clothes," he muttered glancing at his depleting wardrobe. He shrugged. "First things first."

He left through the front door.

Peter walked down the street, head down, a bit unsteady, wondering what people would think if they knew that he had stopped enough velocity to crush a car and he was out for an evening stroll.

Peter walked past Lucky's Pizza, breathing in the fresh pizza smell. He pulled the dogeared five dollar bill out of his pocket and sighed. He kept walking, headed for the golden arches. "I gotta jack up my price range," he muttered.

He felt a peculiar sensation, a warning sensation. He became alert, glancing from side to side. There; that laugh, that perfume.

Oh no.

Harry and Mary Jane came strolling out of the pizzaria. They swung around and casually strolled down the sidewalk towards where he was parked. They had the sidewalk to themselves. Harry opened Mary Jane's car door for her, then walked around to his side. Then with a flaring engine roar, they were off.

Peter watched through the glass windows of the gas station next door. He sighed, and felt a deep and empty moment.

"Altered States," said a headline from the rack between him and the window. He looked more closely. A magazine, had two silhouettes of faces with brains behind them. Peter pulled the magazine out of the rack.

"The Planetary," he muttered to himself, reading the cover. "Altered States: Another World of Communication" the subheading read. He quickly flipped it open and glanced at the table of contents. Odd stuff. Wacky even. On the back page it had a picture of the editor; Stephen Strange. Form echoes content, he thought, smiling. He read the last text box; it was curious...

_If you have encountered something peculiar and thought provoking enough for the open minds of the editors at the Planetary, please feel free to contact us by our toll free number. Insane people have great ideas and encounters just like the rest of us, so be assured we will take your initial inquiry seriously. Confidentiality assured, a fair hearing likely, and esoteric problems made simple. Our policy on hoaxes and pranks; make them interesting or don't bother._

_Dr. Stephen Strange_

_Editor in Chief_

Peter smiled at that last bit. Then his smile faded.

"Hey," the cashier said. "You gonna buy that? We ain't a library, pal."

"Yeah," Peter said, shrugging. He put down the magazine and his five dollar bill. Moments later he was the proud owner of the February issue of the Planetary.

He got precious little change back.

**xXx**

Once again in his room, Peter picked up the phone and curled the magazine cover back. He punched in the number. The phone rang twice and picked up:

_"You have reached the office number for the Planetary. This is Doctor Stephen Strange. Please leave a message with your name, number, address. If the planets are aligned properly, you never know: we might get back to you." BEEP_

"Hi," Peter said, feeling supremely stupid. "My name is not important, but I hope you get back to me anyway and, uh, don't have caller i.d." He closed his eyes and cursed himself for a moment, but it was too late now. "I have a college professor who I think got somehow turned into a giant lizard, and even if he's brought into custody I don't know if the cops or the doctors can help him. I saw your magazine and I thought maybe you could shine some light on my esoteric problem. Make it simple, like it says in the ad. Anyway, if I could maybe get him to come in, could you help? Uh, I guess that's it. Look forward to hearing back. Uh, thanks." He hung up quickly.

He looked over his desk and sighed. Then groaned and lowered his head to his hands.

Tomorrow. Monday. Tests. Damn.

"I suppose now you want to sleep," he said to the mirror.

Ten minutes later he was gently snoring in the chair.

**xXx**

Phone. Ringing.

Peter jerked awake, answering the phone before his eyes were really open. Sunlight. Phone. Noise. Ack.

"Peter Parker speaking," his voice said crisply as he struggled to wake up.

"Yes, this is Doctor Strange," the cultured voice with an unplaceable accent said on the other end of the line. "I was intrigued by your call."

"Yes," Peter said, sitting up straight and clearing his throat. "It is a fascinating case. If the lizard could be delivered to you, could you, as your magazine says, take a look at it confidentially?"

"If nothing else, you can trust my discretion," the doctor said.

"Great. What's the address?"

Strange relayed it as Peter scribbled it down. "When were you thinking of stopping by?" the doctor asked.

"Do I need an appointment?" Peter said, shifting uncomfortably. "I can't guarantee timeline."

"No," Strange replied. "So there is an element of uncertainty remaining."

"Yes, basically," Peter said cautiously. "I'll do my best to wrap it up as fast as I can."

"Then I will await your contact," Strange murmured.

"Thanks," said Peter. "I wanted to be sure you'd help before bringing him to you. He will, uh, need restraint."

"I have the best that are available. Our guest will not misbehave," the doctor said. "Until we meet, then."

"Yeah," Peter nodded. "Later." He hung up and blinked properly. Glanced at the clock.

Ten twenty seven.

Halfway through his science lab.

"Dammit!" he said, snatching at his coat and stumbling towards the door. "Harry's gonna kill me..."

**xXx**

"I'm gonna kill him," Harry muttered through his teeth as he walked out of the lab. "He dogs me to get the lab results prepared for today and then he can't be bothered to show."

"Yeah," Gwen sighed. Peter came limping towards them.

"Hey, Parker," Harry said. "Glad you could make it."

"Whad I miss?" Peter said, out of breath.

"Lab," Harry replied, a touch of coldness in his voice. "We had a sub and they moved the class, so nobody took roll and noticed that a certain deadbeat didn't make it."

"Sorry, Harry," Peter said. "Wild night last night. Had to get caught up on my reading. Slept in."

"All caught up then?" Gwen asked coolly.

"Uh," Peter said, scratching the back of his head. "Uh, I'm really sorry about Saturday, Gwen."

"I'll leave you to it," Harry smiled, and he walked by Peter.

"Yeah," Peter said, looking after him.

"Nice flowers," Gwen noted. "Somebody die?"

"Ooh," Peter winced. "Actually those were my apology. Something came up; something unexpected. When Aunt May sees a pest in the house I just can't leave until she's satisfied that it's dealt with. She's scared to death of little animals." He smiled ruefully.

"That sounds like a very sweet fabrication," Gwen murmured.

"Fabrication?" Peter said innocently.

"Lie," Gwen clarified. "I'll let it slide, Parker. I hope you have your essay done for English."

"Oh, yeah, that thing," he said with a wave and a smile as his heart sank. All weekend to do it, all the time in the world. Damn.

She hesitated, then turned back to him. "Hey Parker," she said. "You can make it up to me if you want. We could go to a movie this afternoon. I'm all caught up in English, and you're hopelessly behind in there anyway. Want to go to a movie?"

He brightened immediately. "A movie? Sure!" he said. Right before he remembered he was flat broke. Well, he could write a check for it; buy a day or two to get money in his account. "Let me drop this off in the lab."

"Better not leave me standing here," she said archly.

"Wouldn't dare," he replied with a grin. He moved like he had a purpose, resisting the urge to speed things up by using the ceiling.

He dumped the books, slammed the locker, and was headed out the front door of the science building when his pace slowed, and an unnatural awareness settled on him. Something wrong. Something out of place.

A woman's voice, alarmed: "Muffy? Muffy, here girl! Muffy?"

He heard the slosh of the water, the sharp desperate yip. Oh no.

The lizard returned to familiar ground. To a nearby lair?

Peter was torn for a moment, undecided.

Gwen. Peter steeled himself then walked up to her.

"Gwen?" he said. "I've found out about a project I forgot about that I need to do this afternoon, I promised, and I can't get out of it. I would be de_lighted_ to go to a movie with you, and I swear I will this week. I need to do this first, though. If I can get through it in good time, I'll call you, okay?" He was already backing away.

"Oh, Peter," she sighed. "Should I bother giving you my phone number?"

"I have it, but thanks," he said with a grateful smile.

"You sure?" she said softly. She waved goodbye, and headed for her English class, head down.

"Peter Parker," he muttered, "you are a class A-1 jerk and a half. Either you have commitment issues or you're stark raving mad or maybe blind. Need to give up this gallivanting about in silk pajamas and get a haircut and a real job and meaningful relationship. And floss once a day." He sighed, moving down towards the lake.

He immediately spotted the lizard, half in the water by the bank. It saw him at the same moment, and propelled itself out of the water with one lash of its tail, moving fast and low towards the science building once more. Peter set his aching jaw, feeling the thud of his pulse in his guts, the ringing of his ears, the ache of his head. Once more into the breach. And he was moving.

Peter was right behind it as it scuttled up the side of the building and wormed with disturbing swiftness into the hole it had clawed to get out. Then through the interior, Peter stripping as he went; today he had worn the mesh beneath his clothes.

The lizard ducked through a side grate and into an open space. Peter hesitated and sensed out into the room for a moment before following, having been taught the hard way that too rapid a pursuit could be deadly.

Large open room. Pitch black. Dome?

Great. Peter breathed out slowly.

The observatory.

Peter shot out of the grate and rolled to his feet, his senses flaring all around him. He was paranoid, blind. He waited, patient, his heart thrumming, his muscles tight. Another outfit gone. He was almost out of khakis. Must remember to strip _before_ crawling around in tunnels.

Movement. He didn't think, his body reacted. He spun, lashing out with a kick, and he landed a glancing blow on the lizard's shoulder. Even a glancing blow had serious power, and the lizard was slung onto its back as it slid away. Then it bounced effortlessly to its feet. It resumed silent running, and Peter relaxed. He let his senses make decisions for him.

From above.

He whipped to the side, lashing out with a two fisted strike that slapped home into the creature's hip; the lizard slid awkwardly, then bounded up to the wall.

On the metal. Peter shot strands out, feeling them tug into metal or stone; then one jerked in response, and he hauled swiftly. Felt the lizard hissing through the air towards him. Let a punch go with everything he had. It hit something solid that still had give to it. The lizard grunted as he smashed into it, then it clanged against the wall.

"Need light," Peter muttered.

Then it was on top of him again; in the pitch dark, his razor sharp senses screamed as his mind went blank and he deflected an unreal series of slashes and kicks, bites and tail lashes, driven back but almost untouched by the creature's barrage of feral slashing blows. It hissed, and he felt its chill breath, its hate for all things that breathed out warm air.

He reflexively slung a webline up to the dome and bounded out of the lizard's reach for a moment. Slapping against the metal dome, he found a seam in the metal. He applied his strength.

The dome creaked open a fraction, enough for him to slide out. The lizard did not give him time to escape; before he squeezed out, it crashed into him and propelled them both into the air, thrashing and without leverage.

They crashed into the top of a tree, then bounded out and hit the slope that led down to the lake.

The lake.

The lizard was moving.

"Not this time," Peter gritted out. And he let go.

The spider sprang at the lizard, crashing into its lithe back, feeling it twist. _Fight_, he willed it. _Fight your best. Show me. Show me what you have._

It spun with its claws. His fist slashed into its incoming wrist. Bone splintered. The lizard snarled and snapped at his face, and rather than ducking he put a calculated blow across its nostrils, jerking its head painfully to the side. They rolled, and he threw out a leg to stop them. The lizard clawed at him, and his rage swelled. He attacked with a cold calculated burst of speed.

He lashed his knuckles into the soft flesh under its jawbone, and as its head whipped up he cracked his head into its collarbones. Snapping his knee into its ribs, he hurled it up and spun so his leg arced above him, slashing into it. It clawed at his leg as it was crushed with a kick that bounced it off the tree. It gagged and made an odd chirping noise, but his fist was already hissing through the air, slamming between its eyes. He jumped up and kicked straight down into its gut, bouncing it off the ground, he dropped with his elbows on its chest. The lizard vocalized desperate clicks and scrabbled feebly to escape; he smashed a blow home to the back of its head, grabbed the loose skin of its neck and swung its head into the tree hard.

The lizard lay motionless.

"Not in the water," Peter said in a voice he did not recognize. "I don't like the water."

He came to his senses as every muscle in his body screamed with abuse.

"Ow," he said softly. "You," he growled, pointing at the inert form. "You are boots, luggage, a belt, and a wallet. I mean, damn," he said. "Lots of mean, action packed hide on you."

Shame swept him for a moment, and he fell to his knees and felt for the lizard's pulse.

He found one. It was thready, dim, uncertain.

"Okay, big guy," Peter said, his voice shaky. "Don't die. I'll take you to the doctor."

**xXx**

The door creaked open. "Hello?" Peter said, steadying himself on the door frame.

"You must be Peter Parker," came the cool voice from inside.

"You must be Strange," Peter said. "I mean, you must be Doctor Strange. I'm not saying you're strange, or that you're not, just your name, it's unusual—"

"Are you alone?" Strange gently interrupted.

"Oh, ah, no," Peter said. "I, uh, have him wrapped in a tarp in the trunk. I would have gotten him by now but it's hard to walk with a foot in my mouth."

"Please get him. You will not be observed," Strange said.

Peter shrugged. "You're the boss." He walked down the steps to his car and opened the trunk, then he hauled out the heavy tarp. The lizard shifted feebly, and Peter felt cold, hoping he had not permanently crippled the beast. He hefted the lizard, and entered Strange's mansion.

The door shut behind him.

"I know this sounds weird," Peter said as he carried the body up the stairs, following the doctor, "but I hope the lizard is okay. I mean, I know we had our differences, but it was just doing what it does. Me, I should know better," he said. He glanced around at the heavy dark paneling and tasteful, if grim, décor. The doctor was dressed simply in a tasteful expensive suit. "He's, uh, _sticky_, doc. You might want to get some scrubs."

"Please do not concern yourself, Mr. Parker," the doctor said. "I have things well in hand. Now, if you will please put him down on this bench I will take him from here."

"You have a gurney or something?" Peter asked.

The doctor smiled. "And how did you restrain the lizard?"

"Oh," Peter said, rubbing the back of his aching head. "I borrowed a friend's car and ran over him a couple times. It's a really big car. But I forgot to wear a seatbelt." He gestured at his puffy face. "Damned steering wheel."

"As you wish," the doctor said, suppressing a smile. "You may either wait in this study, or in the kitchen, whichever is more comfortable."

"I think I need some ice for this," Peter said, gesturing vaguely at his face. Strange nodded, and easily picked up the heavy bulk of the lizard, moving into the depths of the house.

Peter watched him go for a moment, toying with the idea of following him. Then he decided that ice sounded pretty good right about now.

He lounged in the spacious kitchen. Glancing at the clock, he sighed. English would be finishing up right now. He and Gwen could be cuddling together in a dark theater at this point. He leaned his head back and lowered the ice pack over his aching face. Yeah. He could also be scratching the foil off the winning lottery ticket, or lounging on the beach watching dolphins play in the tropical waters.

"At least nobody's called me a hero lately," he muttered to himself.

The sun sank in the sky, shining between the buildings on the skyline. Peter had made himself some hot chocolate, filled out a crossword puzzle that was handy, called Aunt May to let her know he would be missing supper again, tried to remember Gwen's number and failed, and tried to remember what he had due for tomorrow's classes. He even had a bad patch where he couldn't remember what classes he had tomorrow.

"I wonder if all my college learning is being knocked out of my head a piece at a time," he muttered, gently rubbing his aching jaw.

**xXx**

"Where am I?" Connors asked. All was dark.

"That is not important," came a smooth and peculiar voice. "Do not open your eyes yet. Do not open your senses."

Connors relaxed. "What happened? I remember... I don't know what I remember."

"You may never sort it out," the voice said gently.

"Am I dead?"

"No," the voice replied, with perhaps a touch of regret. "There is to be no release for you yet. You have been granted a respite."

"A respite?"

"From the darkness," the hypnotic voice said. "From the rage."

"The rage," Connors echoed, his thoughts throbbing. "I remember... the lab... and then..."

"The damage that was done has been contained," the voice said, emotionless. "You are now more whole than you were then."

"My arm?"

"Your arm is still gone," the voice said. "Your spirit has been given a chance to heal."

"Can I open my eyes now?" Connors asked.

"Yes," the voice replied.

Connors opened his eyes, and he saw a thin man sitting on a chair not far from him. The man had hawkish features, and burning eyes. His dark hair was swept away from his face, white streaks fading back from his temples. He sported a mustache and small goatee; dark, but peppered with white hair. Incense trailed its smoke up from a brazier behind the thin man.

"Who are you?" asked Connors, noticing that his voice had grown hoarse.

"I am a doctor, in many ways like you," the man said softly. "You may call me Doctor Stephen Strange."

"Well, Doctor, thank you," Connors said, feeling the strain in his throat. A thudding pain woke in his head.

The thin doctor smiled. "You are welcome," he murmured. "The pain in your chest will fade in a few days."

Connors looked down and saw a brilliant black and red design, a peculiar eye-tugging knot pattern woven on the flesh of his right pectoral. "What in God's name is that?"

"That," Strange said, "is a tattoo."

"I signed no consent forms," Connors said, anger growing in him.

Strange smiled gently. "That is true. You may sue me if you wish. But the demon that has haunted you has been stymied in that pattern. As long as it is not disrupted, you are free of the darkness, for while it cannot be taken from you it can yet be bound within you."

"Demon? Within me?"

Strange inclined his head. "There are many ways of viewing the same issue from different angles, doctor. Let us say that the impulses, the uncontrollable darkness, the rage, and the temptation have been reduced to levels that you will be able to contend with. Your family... they will be delighted. I would pull the demon from you entirely, but you have... given it a home. Willingly and freely given it a place within yourself. Given it a form, as well."

"I don't follow."

"It is not necessary for you to understand," Strange said simply. "You may resume your normal life now. As for your arm," Strange added, looking out the window, "there are worse parts to lose."

Connors nodded slowly. "I remember a young man," he said. "He was... he figures prominently, my memories," he said, halting.

"Yes," Strange nodded.

"Can I go?" Connors asked. "What is today?"

"Monday, February twelfth," Strange answered.

"Days," Connors said softly. "I've lost days."

Strange steepled his fingers. "Perhaps it's time you were getting back."

**xXx**

"You know my address, should you ever need anything," echoed the voice from the upstairs hallway. Peter was awake in a moment.

"This guy has a knack for waking me up," he muttered, standing and moving to the hallway. Strange was coming down the stairs, Connors behind him.

"Doc!" Peter said. "Doctor Connors. Good to see you. Are you okay?"

"I... I will be," Connors said slowly. "Parker. You know Dr. Strange?"

"I do now," Peter shrugged. Strange moved discreetly to the side for a moment.

"I... remember... you," Connors said slowly, looking at Peter sideways. In a sudden move he stepped to him and put one arm around him, pulling him into a surprisingly strong hug. "I will remember that you saved me," he said quietly.

Peter patted him awkwardly on the back, not sure what else to do. Then Connors released him and looked into his eyes for a moment.

A car horn tooted outside.

"Your cab," Strange said.

"Thanks, doctor," Connors said, extending a hand. Strange met his grip. Then Connors was out the front door and down to where the yellow cab waited. Strange and Peter made eye contact, waiting for the car door to slam, the cab to drive off.

"Your friends car. A big one," Strange repeated.

"Uh," Peter said.

Strange nodded to himself. "Peter Parker," he mused. "I've seen your work."

"You _have_?" Peter asked, genuinely shocked.

Strange nodded. "I take an interest in photographers and photography. Reliable ones are so hard to find in my line of work."

"You gotta be kidding," Peter said reproachfully. "Where did you see my work?"

Strange smiled a peculiar secret smile, strolling into the kitchen and filling a kettle with water. "Last year, the art department's photography exhibit. You submitted a fascinating collection of spider web photos. You are regularly represented in the yearbook the last two years, since you were their staff photographer, and I have also had the opportunity to see some of your work for your photography classes, since Mr. Freeburg is a friend of mine."

"Wow," Peter said, struck by something between awe and paranoia, suddenly feeling very small and vulnerable. "You sure do know a lot about me."

"There's a trick to it," Strange smiled.

"So... why me?"

"Well," Strange said, putting the kettle on the stove. "For one, you have the knack for being in the right place at the right time to experience the most... fascinating subject matter, if you could keep your wits about you. For another, you have an absolute talent for then being able to walk away from these situations. Taken together with your contacts in the world that my magazine happens to be about, the world within and beyond this one, and your... particular _other_ talents, I'd say you were worth the investment."

"Just one hitch," Peter said ruefully, hoping he wasn't talking himself out of a job. "I tend to leave my camera behind."

"That," Strange said with a gesture, "can be remedied." Peter looked where Strange pointed, and he saw a bag on the counter. He walked over to it, unzipped it; his camera!

"Oh man," he said with a delighted grin. "Oh wow!"

Strange smiled to himself and said nothing further on the camera's mysterious presence. "I'll be in touch," he said.

"Do you need my number or address or anything?" Peter asked.

Strange's small secret smile turned positively saturnine. "I have caller i.d." he explained.

**xXx**

It was close to eleven when Peter finally returned to his room. He sighed. "I've been going all day," he said to himself. "When they say Doc Connors gives a mean final, they have no idea."

He flopped down on the bed and pulled out the camera Strange had returned to him. "Neat," he said to himself. He popped it open to load film.

Tightly rolled into the interior of the camera were a number of bills. Peter's eyes shot wide open as he pulled the money out and unrolled the rubber band that kept it tight.

A short sentence was scrawled on the back bill in silvery flowing script: _Consider it an advance._

"Must be two hundred bucks here, easy," Peter whispered, freeing the bills. He slowly smiled as a plan began to form in his mind.

**xXx**

Wednesday.

At least he wasn't late. Peter sat in the lecture hall across the building from the normal advanced lab; the usual classroom was closed for remodeling. He sat waiting, and keeping a sharp lookout, because she was always early too.

Sure enough, Gwen came in and took her customary seat on the front row. Peter sidled up behind her.

"Hi Gwen," he said. "Mind if I sit?"

"Is that the only trick you do?" she asked, looking away.

"I'm good at 'heel'," Peter said. He sat. "Look, Gwen, I'm really sorry about yesterday. I know there's no point in going into my reasons, but they aren't about you. This is."

She looked down as he put a small necklace on her desk, a necklace with a heart locket.

"Now," he said, "there's no picture of me in there or anything. I didn't know who you might want pictures of. You might want, you know, your folks or something. Anyway," he rushed on, "I have these two tickets to the movies tonight, and I've made dinner arrangements at Constantine's for eight. These tickets are yours, so if you had somebody else in mind you wanted to take, that's cool too. I just wanted you to have a happy Valentines Day."

She looked at him, genuinely surprised. "Peter," she said. "I'm not sure what to say."

"Wanna invite me on a date again? Since you have one all set up?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

She shook her head. "I guess so. Peter, you busy tonight?"

"I sure hope so," he said. "With you I mean. I've taken care of everything else. Just you and me."

She snapped the locket open and looked at it. "I think I won't put any pictures in it," she said, her tone a bit arch. "Then I can look in here and think of all our times together."

"Ow," he said. "Easy!"

She looked at him and smiled, a real smile.

She might just like me, Peter thought. He smiled back.

Doctor Connors walked in, and the class settled down.

"Hello, class," Connors said. He looked haunted, but much better than he had the last time Parker saw him. "I've had the flu bug, it laid me low for a few days. I understand the lab was vandalized while I was gone, but we're re-convening here. Now, I see what the substitute covered in the lecture Monday, and I must say that I think we need to start again, from the top." His eyes moved over Parker. "Shall we begin?"

"Indeed," Peter murmured with a glance at Gwen.

They started over.


End file.
